the Last Speaker
by faciliers
Summary: Simon may be the only one who can bring Jace back from what he's become. Pre-COLS, AU-ish. Jimon.


Pairing: Jace/Simon

Genre: Drama/Romance

Fandom: TMI

Plot: Simon may be the only one who can bring Jace back from what he's become. Pre-COLS, AU-ish.

Word Count: 3,766

**A/N: First off, I'm going to have to say a massive "sorry" to all you readers- I was a bit out of it when I read CoFA many months ago and can't remember a lot of the specifics, and the Shadowhunter wiki hasn't exactly been forthcoming with the info I've needed, so I apologize for any of facts I miss. **

**About the setting: This story takes place in a pre-CoLS (which I still haven't read), AU-ish universe where Jace has been missing for a few months, during which time Izzy and Simon have been dating and have developed a fairly intense relationship, so you'll be seeing quite a bit of Iz. Simon is still living with Jordan.**

**With ENORMOUS thanks to Gabby, who has been totally lovely and edited this whole thing, and everyone who has encouraged my writing of the fic.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own TMI, CC does. I think we all know this. **

**So, here it is: The Last Speaker, as written for easyasdeanpie.**

Sometimes Simon wonders why they still bother with coffee dates. They've saved the world several times over and fight evil on a regular basis, spend half their days having sex in the various niches of Simon's apartment (poor Jordan now spends most of his waking hours out and about the city), yet both of them still insist on these routine rendezvous. They do have to switch shops often, otherwise someone would notice that Simon only ever asks for coffee and never takes a sip, but if there's one thing New York's not short on, it's coffee shops.

Maybe that's why Simon feels so off when he enters the shop, something twisting in his gut and his senses heightened. Super hearing makes him want to slice his head off, but enhanced super hearing makes him want to slice off everybody else's. There's a boy near the back window, and the steady _tap_ _tap tap_ of his nails against cellphone keys alights Simon's desire to toss him out the front door. Simon closes his eyes, attempts breathing exercises despite not really needing to breathe at all- what did that one aerobics video say about exhalation, the one his mother always used to watch, the one with the awful 80's music that grated on his soul…?

It's useless anyways, he thinks, and slowly opens his eyes to scan the room. In truth he's known where she is from the moment he stepped into the café- she inhales and exhales with a sort of ethereal power that mundanes simply don't possess. Her blood is different too, a fast, smooth chain that slams around her veins as though it's desperate to get out, and so it's hard to miss her. (When he lays eyes on her, he notices the mundanes are staring at her, unsurprisingly given her six inch heels and tight dress.) As he approaches her- swiftly and silently, he likes to think- her head snaps up to meet his eyes, and he truly hopes that the mundanes aren't paying close attention to her every movement. A grin tugs at his mouth as he slides into the seat opposite her, and when he lays his hands palm down on the table in front of them, Izzy says, "Careful." She stirs her coffee with a spoon, her eyes flicking down periodically to watch the liquid swirl. "Smile anymore and your fangs might show." Pulling the spoon from the coffee, she licks off the remaining sugar while staring doe-eyed at a passing girl; the girl jumps, hurries out the door while subconsciously tugging at her sweater.

"Your wit stuns me, Iz," Simon replies, "and so does your tendency to confuse innocent people about their sexual orientation."

"Just helping out," Izzy says, dropping the spoon to the table with a slight _clang_. "Call it community ser vice."

"Ouch," Simon remarks, but his eyebrows are raised. Normally when Izzy jokes, she does so with an inflection that sets the mood, lets people know that she's teasing and not being cruel, but right now her voice is devoid of liveliness. The twisting in his stomach returns, and the smile falls from his face. He shifts in his seat, and just as he's opening his mouth he feels a stare. A dark haired waitress is gape mouthed, hands hanging loose by her sides- _what, what did I do?_ _Did I move too fast? _Soon enough, she settles with shaking her head and heading in for the kitchens, and Simon marvels at the fact that _wow, people actually do that, shake their heads when they're confused. I thought that was just some sort of trope. _

"Simon," Isabelle says.

Simon's eyes flick back to her face. "Are you using a new shampoo?"

"What?"

Simon sniffs, separating the scent from the others mixed around on Izzy. "There's pomegranate in the air-"

"Yeah, yeah, we're going after a smell-orientated demon on the East Side tonight, and of course I'm bait," she explains, still deadpan, "although we might have to cancel now that we're a man short-"

He watches as she struggles to keep her posture upright, suddenly notices the dark rings under her eyes that shine through her foundation. "Shit, did something happen to Alec?"

Iz stares at him blankly for a few seconds before she drawls, "Would I be sitting here if something had?"

_Well, at least she's sounding more like herself. _"Sorry, stupid of me-"

Isabelle begins to laugh, but suddenly stops although there's a look in her eyes that doesn't fade. "Alec's fine, perfectly fine, but Clary…"

"Clary?" Simon freezes, reaching for his phone. Was she in trouble? Had she tried to text him? Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck, he'd had his phone turned off all last night, what if he'd missed something?

"Is she missing? Has she been kidnapped? Has, has he got her, you know- _him_?" Simon flinches at his own blunt avoidance of the name.

"She's missing but she hasn't been kidnapped," Izzy tells him. "Clary's out doing errands for Magnus, or something, I don't know, I just don't, and I figured I should tell you since she's not supposed to being in contact with anyone but Magnus for a while. I didn't want you having anxiety attacks when you couldn't get a hold of her."

"If all she's doing is 'running errands', then why do you look like shit?" Simon wants to bang his head against the windows as soon as the words are out of his mouth.

"You're generally not supposed to tell women they look like shit, _you bastard_," Izzy spits, but the inflection is there, and Simon relaxes. "Thanks, boyfriend."

He groans when he sees the twinkle in her eyes, equal parts malice and amusement. "Sorry, sorry, sorry-"

"Anyways," she interrupts, "I've been losing sleep over the whole thing, and I shouldn't be, but I know it must be about…" she doesn't have to finish.

"I know," he says, taking her hand as she ducks her head.

"Yeah, but-" she breaks off, tries again. "There was, there was Max-" her voice catches and she blinks rapidly, hesitates before raising her head and continuing, "there was him and now this and if, if he and then if Alec-"

There's a sharp stinging where his heart ought to be, and all Simon wants to do is tell her that everything will work out, that Magnus can fix anything, that she shouldn't bother worrying about Alec because he's got such a good head on his shoulders and a warlock who loves him besides, that he- that he, that Jace, will be back with them soon because how could he not be? Simon wants to tell her that he'll never leave her, but there's that small problem that rests upon his forehead, and Simon knows what it means for the both of them. His throat's gone dry as if he's craving blood, his fingers are tapping an erratic rhythm against his thigh, and so instead of saying what he should, Simon calls over a waitress and orders her a cup of water (isn't that what they do in movies?) He squeezes her hand.

"So," he says after a minute or two, "there's something creepy about this place, almost déjà vu-ish."

"It's the place where Camille sent her minions to get you," Izzy supplies. "It's _that_ café."

How did he miss that? Weren't vampire memories supposed to be ultra sharp? Wasn't they supposed to be on top of everything, in the way the rest of their bodies were?

He repeats that thought out loud to Izzy, raising his eyebrows afterwards- will it help her any? She does let loose a snort at the blatant innuendo, and quickly Simon tries to recall every dirty joke he's heard in the past few hours (and given who he has for friends, he's heard quite a lot). When nothing surfaces- again, where was his supposed ultra-memory?- he asks instead, "Do you want to stop by later tonight?" To his credit, Simon does try to keep any suggestiveness out of his tone, but Izzy's not having it after his previous joke.

"Really? _Really?_" She rolls her eyes, laughing. Learning forward she whispers, "You know, I might be covered in demon."

"That's kind of nasty," he admits, but then sings, "_But girl you're amazing, just the way you are_…" Simon finally realizes why he was never made lead singer of the band.

Izzy just stares, and then they're laughing again. "It's this dumb mundane song. I'll show it to you if you come over."

"I don't think I'm all that curious about it," she says, smirking as she rises. Patting his arm, she says, "I'll still come, though."

He's a little taken aback by the gesture: Izzy's full willing to stick her tongue down his throat in public, but anything more demure is virtually a non-occurrence. He listens to the bell chime as Izzy leaves the shop, and for a second he wonders if they've established this café as the 'Bad News Café'; what will be next, the 'Argument Café', the 'Raunchy Jokes Café', the 'Uncomfortable but Necessary Discussions Café'? _'Bad News Café'… it's perfect_, Simon notes as the girl three booths down breaks up with her sobbing boyfriend.

Simon has decided that what Iz really needs is a nice home-cooked meal, one that won't poison all parties involved. He heads to the grocery shop nearest to the apartment; a basic pasta is probably the best he can manage (he might not burn water the way Izzy does, but he's no Jamie Oliver.) He's short on the cash anyways, the last bunch having come from a generous donation of Jordan's behalf (twenty whole dollars!) He's reaching for the lemons when a pile of rotting fruit catches his eye.

_Mangoes._ They're a bit unrecognizable in their decayed state, but he can still tell what they are. _Fucking mangoes._

He's taken aback by the resurgence of stinging in his chest, so he snatches up some lemons for the pasta, and does his best to get out there quickly. The guy at the counter may give him a weird look, but Simon leaves before he can comment on it- after all, Simon doesn't visit rundown grocery stores to be judged.

The pasta's on low heat when he hears footsteps in the hallway. He sets the spoon down- their only neighbors are prostitutes and an old man who sells drugs from a ferret carrier, both of whom only ever stumble in late at night or early in the morning.

"Jordan," he says, "get the door. Izzy's here."

"I'm in the middle of a raid right now," Jordan whines, jabbing heatedly at the controller.

Heaving a sigh, Simon heads to the door. He proceeds to stick his head out into the hallway expecting to see a pair of gut-covered boots, but… but there's nothing.

Simon steps back inside, closing the door behind him. Jordan yells, "Hey, Izzy!"

"Izzy's not here!" Simon yells back. "You can't hear that?"

"These bombs are pretty loud!" Appropriately enough, Jordan's screech is followed by a series of explosions. "My gun is too, and the Marines like to yell at me _all the fucking time_-"

Simon's behind the couch now, staring at the screen. "Did you just kill a Marine?"

"Yeah!"

"Aren't they on your side?"

Jordan chuckles. "They've got great guns."

Izzy arrives well after midnight, wiping a string of flesh from her shoulder as she enters the apartment.

"I hate being bait," she mutters, marching right on in instead of wiping her boots on the placemat. (Clary had insisted they have one. "You might as well try not to ruin your carpet!" she'd said, to which he had replied "Can't get much worse than it already is.")

"If anyone should be bait, it should be Alec!" Izzy fumes. "_He doesn't do anything anyways_!"

Simon stops dead in his tracks. _Did she…? _It was always _I hate it when Clary does this,_ and back in the days of Jace, _What an idiot, such a dick, needs to suck up his pride_. He'd heard all those complaints out of Izzy many times, even when they weren't dating- she's never been quiet about her displeasure with the both of them.

"Did something happen?"

"I nearly died, is what happened!" she hisses, stooping over to peel off a boot. "Alec hesitated and I nearly fucking died-" Isabelle starts yanking off her gear, heading for his room, and he doesn't bother picking it up as he follows. Wordlessly he makes his way to the scratched up dresser in the corner, pulling out shorts and a tee, Izzy's spares. He holds them out, but Izzy continues to pace for a few moments.

Finally she catches sight of the clothes and snatches them up, muttering "thanks" as she yanks the tee over her head. As she shimmies into the shorts, she says, "Sorry."

"No big deal," he tells her.

"I don't want to be a jerk." She shuffles over to the window, perches on the sill and stares out the glass. It should be touching, it should be picturesque, but it only hurts in the same way as the mangoes.

"You're not a jerk, Iz." He steps a little closer, scratching his head. "I mean… yeah." Headlights flicker through the window. "You want something to eat?"

She nods. "Starving."

He pads into the kitchen, all the while hoping that the stinging will lessen if he distracts himself. He scoops the pasta out of the pot- it's cold, but he knows Izzy won't mind. When he returns to the bedroom, Izzy reaches out and snatches the plate from his hands, shoveling the noodles into her mouth without even taking a second to look at it. _What the hell is going on?_ Simon thinks, his fingers dancing over the left side of his chest. _Why does this keep getting worse? Am I having blood indigestion? I never heard of blood indigestion before. I'd probably be the first to get it, it's just my luck._

Iz drops the paper plate and plastic fork to the sill, sighing deeply. "I think I'm about to puke."

"That's what happens when you eat too fast."

She narrows her brow. "You don't understand how hungry I was."

He takes in the sight before him, the shine of butter smeared across her lips and chin, a stray noodle bit sticking to her cheek. "I think I do."

She smacks his arm, thrusts the plate and fork towards him. "Take care of this before you forget about it and it molds or something."

Simon is dumping the paper plate in the kitchen trash when Izzy sneaks up behind him, hugs him around the waist. With a trembling breath, her body shaking against his, she whispers, "Dying isn't a part of my plans, Simon. I'm not ready."

Simon closes the lid on the garbage can. "You shouldn't have to be."

The wristwatch on the couch reads 3:30 when he starts to hear the footsteps again. He isn't sure how he mistook them for Izzy's before- there are no sharp, concentrated _clicks_ like Izzy's heels would make; instead the weight is evenly distributed. Simon wants to brush it off as being one of the neighbors, but the prickle running across his neck won't let him. He approaches the door as if it's a wild animal (or another vampire, really) waiting to spring. He tries to convince himself that this is completely unnecessary- it's not as if what's lurking behind the door is one of the huge alien monsters from Jordan's game.

No, he reminds himself, but it could very easily be some sort of demon from the depths of hell, sent to find me and slowly kill me, and while the demon won't have much luck with that particular mission-Simon's fingers run lightly over the Mark- there are other forms of torture.

He turns the knob, pulls the door towards him slowly as he tries to navigate around any sort of noise even though he can hear every little creak the hinges make. Shutting his eyes, Simon lets his lips slide open just a crack and makes sure to breathe in through both his mouth and nose. He does his best to ignore the sudden explosion of giggles from next door and the heightened pumping of blood that carries through the air, rich and sweet on his tongue. He places his hands on either side of the doorframe, holding himself steady as he thinks, _Smell, taste, hearing-_ his fingers dig into the frame- _touch_. With one last breath, his eyes snap open. _Sight._

Every part of Simon aches, every damned part, from the hairs on his head to the spaces between his toes, and he grasps the doorframe harder as he swallows the want that tightens his throat, the tired want that coos, _Go back to bed, it's nothing_; but the footsteps sound again, and Simon drops his hands and stands tall. Smell, taste, hearing, touch, sight- they're all on his side. Although the presence has moved, fled at the first sight of him and headed to another level, Simon feels determination pounding through him. He closes the door behind him and steps into the hallway.

If he remembers correctly, the footsteps were concentrated to the left, by the stairs, yet another flaw in his _it's-just-Izzy_ reasoning; Izzy would rather sleep on one of the hard wooden benches in the lobby rather before she, already exhausted from some Shadowhunter mission, would walk up multiple flights of stairs in five inch heels.

"I'm not worth the effort?" Simon remembers asking Izzy after finding her on one of said benches, a recent power outage having caused the elevator to be unavailable. He'd tried for a light tone, but only came off as strangled and apathetic. He'd cringed at the sound of it.

"No," Izzy had snapped, tight-lipped and eyebrows narrowed. "If you want me to actually make it to your place, why don't you go back to living in a garage?"

Simon remembers the sting that followed, the way Izzy's face fell and her hair covered her face when she ducked her head. He remembers clearly the soft tones of her "sorry", and even though it had been perfectly logical to feel… emotional disturbance at the comment, Simon would've given anything to tear the feeling straight out of his chest.

The first whiff he gets of the intruder surprises him: it's clearly an attempt to cover up something else, a dead giveaway that they shouldn't be here. The odor, despite being possessed by someone two floors below him, is horribly pungent, so absolutely repulsive he's not sure how he ever ignored it. It's some ditzy cross between Axe, a flowery perfume, and yes, garlic- _why would anyone bother with this? Why would they be making their presence so obvious?_ Simon had seen the pimps with glowing eyes that guarded nearby doors and smelled the wolves on Level Five; he couldn't delude himself into believing that Jordan and himself were the only supernatural occupants of the building- why hadn't someone already taken notice?

With his hearing properly in check, and his sense of smell working in tandem, he can search out the exact location of the… _intruder? Stalker? General miscreant? _They seem to have moved down yet another floor. Simon can hear the laughter of the boys from gym class ringing in his ears as he tries to watch his footing. A single floorboard creak could give him away, and-

And why was he even bothering to hide his presence? The jerkoff had sought him out, so why bother hiding? As he steps into the elevator, pressing the button for three levels below, he reassures himself, _Badasses always take the elevator. It's like saying, Yeah, you called?_

When the elevator doors slide open, Simon does not react upon seeing nothing in the hallway; he simply continues to walk forward. He can hear a cacophony of breathing, steady ins-and-outs, but he searches for one that's softer, possibly trained: one that's trying to hide. The smell has become even more fierce, attacking him and making "opening all his senses" a difficult task. He does his best to pace each of his steps, not to rush- _badasses don't rush. I've got them pretty much cornered, so why bother? _When he reaches the end of the hallway, it splits into two other hallways; and despite what his senses are telling him, Simon fully expects to see the creature dart into the stairwell. Instead, he sees a human-like form sitting on the windowsill opposite said stairs, halfway out the window. _Let them talk first. You're in control._

Simon walks halfway to the window, then stops, waiting for the creature to speak.

But they don't, just continue to grip the sill, to swing their legs into the cold night air and stare into the distance. A muscle is twitching in his forehead- _I am not up this early to deal with someone who wants to play games_- when he smells something underneath the disgusting mix of scents. At first, there's something that seems to reek of death, but he inhales again and even further buried is something like… light? Clary smells a bit like that, and Simon tenses. _Shit, what if they've got her? Would we even know if she'd been kidnapped? _He opens his mouth to break the silence, an angry accusation already forming on his lips, but the almost-taste of the creature's blood hits him, a stunningly familiar burst of warmth, of strength… _no_.

Simon sprints the last couple yards, reaches out to grab the creature's arm, and for a moment he's sure he's got them as his fingertips graze the skin; but they vault themselves off the sill and into the air before he can quite grasp their arm…

But he realizes, realizes all the same, and as he watches the form fall to the ground and land with a feline grace, and as he hears a faint but unmistakable grunt, Simon stumbles backwards.

_Smell, taste, touch, sight, hearing. _He may not have gotten a clear look at the face, but Simon _knows_. And when he's finally dragged himself back into the elevator, down the hallway and through his front door, into his bedroom, all he wants to do is fall onto the mattress alongside Izzy. The want, the pure debilitating exhaustion from earlier has flooded him and wishes to consume him. Instead he finds himself shaking Iz awake, asking for her phone, dialing Magnus's number as she fires questions at him that Simon doesn't know how to answer.

**I'd be honored if you guys left comments/reviews!**


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